AA in Reverse
by Lizard Pie
Summary: Germany has taken a vow to stop drinking, and Prussia can't allow that to stand. With reluctance, he turns to Italy for help.
1. Chapter 1

AN: Based on the "Salted Salmon" side-comic. A quick disclaimer in hindsight. This was written far too early into my introduction to Prussia, more specifically before I went through his drama CD which would have been necessary in order to properly characterize the relationship between Italy and Prussia. Because I was too hasty to begin writing, characterization suffered. I do apologize; but I leave this up not only because I enjoy the concept, but because it stands as testament to my growth in understanding my subject.

* * *

Prussia boarded the train with nothing but a book and his wallet. He was headed to Italy, and the sparseness of his belongings was an annoyance to say the least. He adored the country, and would have loved nothing more than to enjoy everything it had to offer (especially because it was deliciously warm at this point of the year). But he had business to attend to, and he would be there absolutely no longer than he needed to be. His current situation was too pressing for anything but immediate action.

It had originally been the single funniest thing Prussia had ever heard; and considering how long he'd been alive that was certainly saying something. He enjoyed beer, but nowhere near on the level that Germany did. That his little brother thought that he could ever stop drinking entirely was just adorable. He wouldn't have been doing his duty as an older sibling if he didn't have plenty of remarks to point that out.

And, of course, he had to remind Germany of all the deliciousness that he was denying himself. The smoky Rauchbier, the strong Weizenbock, the bitter-sweet Spezial… Prussia practically sang that they didn't have 1,300 breweries and over 5,000 brands between them for nothing; and it was all he could do not to die of laughter as his brother twitched.

That had been the initial reaction, though. Then the single night turned into a few days, and then over a week. Despite all of Prussia's best efforts, Germany hadn't swallowed a single drop. To go even further, he'd stopped coming into the bars and eating at the dining room table with his brother to avoid the ever-present temptation of alcohol.

Instead of relaxing in the way he always had, Germany had thrown himself into his job with more veracity than he ever had before. It left Prussia with no exposure to his brother outside of work, in which Germany refused to speak about anything but.

As much as Prussia had thought it would be impossible to do so, what had originally been a laugh-riot was now making the beer unpalatable; and the people he drank it with even more so.

He prided himself in not needing others for anything from alliance to companionship; or, if he turned to them, the ability to discard them as soon as their usefulness was exhausted. That statement, however, wasn't meant to be about his little brother. Germany's abandonment of him was causing pain he'd never experienced before, and his pride wasn't enough that he was willing to ignore that.

Unfortunately (and, Prussia acknowledged begrudgingly, mostly due to the way he had raised the young country), Germany was unimaginably stubborn when he'd agreed to do something. He'd been doing very well in sobriety thus far; and it was becoming a greater and greater possibility that he'd actually succeed. Prussia would not be denied his brother, drinking buddy, and, as reluctant as he was to say it, friend simply because Germany was eager to hold fast to stupidity.

It simply wasn't in Prussia to say something like that he missed someone out-loud, though. Most of all, he would not say it to Germany; who seemed to be going out of his way to hurt his brother. If his brother was going to be so sadistic, Prussia was going to return the favor.

There was that little, useless thing that his brother was evidently in love with; because there could be no other reason for someone who'd been raised to be a militaristic super-power to keep around something so pathetic and damaging. This Italy, who had grown bigger but not more competent, somehow was evidently capable of talking anyone into doing anything. And, best of all, he was gullible enough to be convinced to use that power with minimal effort.

Prussia would have salivated at this sort of capabilities if the situation weren't so sensitive and pressing. Instead, he forced himself to pay attention to his book over the few hours of the train and then taxi ride to the country's house.

The one Germany referred to as 'Italy' (which was silly, as that term described two individuals), was outside; and waved enthusiastically at the country he'd become vaguely acquainted with during his innumerable times of staying at Germany's home.

Prussia smiled in return. "Guten abend, Italian."

"Buona sera, Prussia~!" the younger country greeted joyously.

He ran over and gave Prussia a hug that should rightfully have been reserved for his real ally. While he normally would have pushed the whiny thing off, Prussia returned the gesture in the same manner he'd seen his brother do. 'Italy' nearly squealed.

"What brings you here, ve?" Italy asked. "I didn't know you were coming and I ate all the pasta I had made already," he added with a frown and a bowed head for apology. As if this shame had never happened, though, he immediately brightened up. "But I can make some more right…!"

"_Danke_," Prussia said forcefully to silence the babbling nation. He'd been there for a minute, and he was already annoyed enough to have to fight off the urge to smack the little idiot. Germany must have lost his mind if he had decided to be so loyal to this… "Really, I appreciate it, but I didn't come for food. I… needed your help." Even with all the planning he'd done, he stumbled over the unfamiliar and embarrassing words. The mighty Prussia asking for aid at all was… ugh. He shuddered at what this would do to his reputation if it ever got out.

Though he was sure his contempt was obvious, Italy didn't seem to notice. He looked up with eagerness and a great deal of fear.

"It's not for me," Prussia said quickly. "It's for Germania, and…" He tried to think of what the name for the less-incompetent ally his brother had managed to pick up. It was "Japan" in German; but what was it in Italian? Or, at least, what did that one call himself? Prussia on some levels wished that he paid more (or any) attention to this whole alliance thing, but on others he knew that he didn't care enough.

"Giappone?" Italy asked. The fear was still there, but it was suddenly covered by a layer of urgency.

"Yeah. They're doing something really stupid, and they're going to get sick and die if they don't stop," Prussia said. "You're the only one who can save them." He went to motion to the waiting taxi, but Italy had already bounded inside of it. Prussia had to run after him as fast as he was able to keep from being left behind.

Prussia had always prided himself in his manipulation skills, but he didn't get any satisfaction in this one; it was shocking how easy that had been. He shook it off with the assurance that it would be prime teasing material when he finally got a pint or two in his brother.


	2. Chapter 2

Prussia decided that this 'Japan' was unimaginably lucky that he at least had the advantage of distance to keep the Italian's eyes off him. From what Prussia knew about the isolated country, they were even stuffier than his stick-up-the-ass little brother. Any display of affection at all probably would have the little thing fainting. Why hadn't Prussia taken advantage of that, yet?

Oh, yeah. He didn't want Germany to lose the only reasonable ally he'd found. He certainly needed Japan, if the other option was… What even was this?

The taxi ride had been taken up exclusively by listening to pointless chatter from the Italian as he sang Germany's praises in ways which went well past ally. Some of the things he'd talk about were beyond those of even the most serious lovers in Germanic culture; and with how open and casual the Italian was about mentioning them the pair had to be the most adamant exhibitionists in the world. Forget allies, this was the talk of newlyweds who knew/cared nothing about discursion or social morays.

Just imagining his brother doing half of the things that spewed in an endless stream from the bubbly nation was worth all of the annoyance. Well, not really, but it was funny just the same. Maybe when he got a few pictures of Germany and Italy naked in bed together, it would be made even. Well… no. The ear-rape he was suffering was irreparable. He'd take twice as many pictures, and post them around Europe; and the world if he could manage it.

That would be about half-way there.

They'd boarded the train, and it wasn't until they were rumbling over the Austrian/German boarder that Prussia was finally allowed to get a word in about what he'd traveled so far for.

"It's some sort of shit diet or something like that," Prussia told him. "The only thing they're eating is tomatoes and the only thing they're drinking is water."

"Not even potatoes?" Italy asked, jaw dropped a bit. "But Germania loves…"

The implication that his brother enjoyed passing on his rich cuisine for nothing but a soldier's rations made Prussia bristle a bit. Just because the Germanic nations didn't ignore that they were in a state of war like the Romanized ones… Times had changed, but not that greatly. Prussia brushed off the insult and focused on the question.

To be honest, Prussia hadn't seen his brother eat since before the declaration of sobriety. The first one following Prussia had accompanied with two pints of Germany's favorite beer, which had honestly been the nicest thing he'd done in a long while; what with having to travel down south to where it was exclusively sold. Even if it had been done with the intention of breaking Germany's will, it hadn't been right for the reaction to be indignance and a flat refusal to eat with his brother again. Germany had even turned down the most awesome pot of Hasenpfeffer ever made in the history of the world; which was incomprehensible.

Prussia had seen Germany eat maybe once since then, and that had been sharing a bowl of tomatoes with Japan. Without a potato in sight.

So, when he nodded, as far as Prussia was aware of he was being entirely truthful. Though, of course, his answer would have been exactly the same no matter what he'd seen before.

Italy sunk down and gave a long, obviously depressed 've' sound. Prussia wondered what the hell that even was, but he doubted it would be simple to keep an ally if he pressed too far into that. He'd save the questions and mockery for after this was over.

Prussia leaned over to hiss in Italy's ear. "Don't use real names in public. It's Ludwig, and only Ludwig."

The younger nation's nose wrinkled in disgust. "But I don't like that name," Italy whined. "It doesn't sound like…"

"_Ludwig_ likes that name," Prussia told him.

Italy went completely silent for the first time since the two of them had been together. He'd inadvertently insulted his closest friend, and even if the word never got back to Germany it was a crushing blow.

Prussia inwardly snickered at the weakness that was caused by "friendship" and alliance. Of course, he had to put up with Italy in order to save his brother from his own idiocy…. No, this was entirely different. Germany was his brother, and he'd been groomed to be the embodiment and legacy of the great Germanic empire. He was the head of their household, despite his youth, and chances were that he would outlast the rest of them.

If he needed to be saved from himself every now and then, it was just the same as following an order from his boss.

"Ludwig has stopped drinking beer entirely," Prussia went on. "So he's not going out with his friends, or his brother. He's going to die of stress, I'd bet anything." He paused as he tried to remember the name he'd been told was meant to correspond to Japan. "And Kiko probably won't be able to hold off the allies if he keeps weakening himself without any food. That'd leave you to take care of everything by yourself, wouldn't it?"

Italy's eyes went wide; probably as he thought more about himself being hurt than his allies.

Of course, Prussia never would have let it get so far as to make his brother's only hope for survival a pasta-guzzler. He would have stepped in and assassinated enemies with his bare hands if he had to. Damned if he was going to let them lay a hand on _his_ Germany. At least, not again.

"They'd listen to you, since you three are allies," Prussia went on. "Even as awesome as I am." He took a moment to include a hand motion to exemplify that point. "I'm not as close to them as you are."

"I'll do my best, Pr…. Um…" He smiled, simultaneously awkward and thrilled. "I don't remember what you're supposed to be called; or if I was ever told, ve~. Ludwig doesn't talk much about his family even though I ask all the time. He just tells me that 'you need to run more' and 'make better grenades' and 'don't go outside without pants on' and…"

He had no idea exactly how he was going to make it through the whole ordeal without at least a single punch to the unyielding mouth. Germany tended to be even more impulsive and angry than Prussia was. How exactly was that not a daily occurrence? "Gilbert," Prussia interrupted. "My name is Gilbert."

Italy smiled even more widely, and gave a salute that again should have been reserved for Germany. "I'll do my best, Gilbert."

Prussia smiled. It was a broad, warm one that was reserved for people he was trying to fool. As (almost) always, it worked like a charm. "I know you will, Italian."

This had to be the stupidest plan he'd ever made. But, he supposed, even the severely awesome were allowed to have a misstep once and a while.


	3. Chapter 3

There was a lot of art in pouring beer. The glass had to be tilted just so to create the perfect amount of head, and you had to know exactly how fast that head would grow so that it rose above, but didn't fall over, the rim of the mug.

Through the years Prussia had become an expert. The two pints he poured were absolutely perfect; he could have photographed them and put them in a magazine, they were that good. Nothing less would have been expected of him, of course (being as he was so unbelievably awesome); but none the less it was nice to revel in the wake of such beauty.

After much difficult pondering, he selected the less-perfect of the two for himself. The other was positioned where he damn well knew his brother could see it. He took a seat and watched the whole thing and maybe get an understanding of what exactly this Italian's persuasive talent entailed.

It seemed to boil down to a lot of whining and begging.

There was no dignity anymore. He'd try to talk to someone who'd understand, but most of them had turned into being just as bad. There was nobody left who would remember exactly what being awesome meant; they had all become so easily affected by… this.

Lame.

He'd thought he'd raised his brother well enough, but he was obviously being affected by the whining Italian. The both had refused, but evidently not adamantly enough to dissuade their tormentor. Perhaps the power was in the freakish amount of persistence? It certainly seemed to be working, as their iron wills were not only cracking, but crumbling into nothing.

Prussia smirked into his beer and wondered why they didn't just send Italy to the Allies. They probably would surrender within 20 minutes, and everyone would be sharing a round within the hour. It certainly would be fitting with these new nations.

Italy threw his arms around Germany in a far-too-affectionate hug. The looks on their faces meant that their wills were fully broken, and look at them now! God that was fucking... Prussia checked his watch. Not even 15 minutes.

Christ.

Prussia congratulated himself on yet another awesome plan succeeding. Even if he'd used someone else, it was still his doing that had put it into motion. Not the most difficult thing… in fact it was a little pathetic… No, the pathetic was Germany's fault. Prussia was still undeniably awesome.

Italy hurried over and grabbed the beer off the counter. "I did it!" he said proudly. He stood there smiling for a minute, as if he were waiting to be praised.

For crying.

Prussia asked Old Fritz to give him strength for what he was about to do, but he still took a drink in preparation. "Good work," he said. "Just make sure he actually drinks the damn thing." He pushed the beautiful pint forward a bit.

Italy grabbed and ran off with the beer, and Prussia noted with more than a little annoyance that he'd spilled a great deal of it in the process. Prussia's brow pulled down, but he figured it simply had to be that it took a true Germanic to handle carrying something like that. It must have been, he decided, why wine glasses were always half-full.

Most of the beer did stay in the glass, though, despite the loss of the perfect amount of head. Germany took it gratefully; eyed the drink for a moment, and raised it to his lips. He took a mouthful, and held it for apparently the intention of savoring, before taking large, greedy gulps. Japan, who had a rather wide variety of food all of a sudden (he swore that little son of a bitch was magic), began to eat in the same appreciative manner.

Despite how pathetic it looked to outward observers Italy had persuasive skills Prussia hadn't seen before, and he really wished he could have taken notes. They were actually apologizing to Italy, and caring nothing about the destruction of their pride and ideals. Fucking priceless, he'd need to learn how.

Prussia found himself smiling, though, which was definitely a change. Especially when a mission was successful, for anything but an arrogant smirk to be on his face was just that shouldn't be done. He was the great Prussia, after all; and happiness was nothing to really be proud of. Satisfaction was important, and it being as smug as possible was a plus.

His little brother deserved nothing less, and Prussia made quite sure that he wore the proper degree of arrogant smirk after Germany had drunk a significant amount. Prussia walked over and threw an arm around his brother's shoulder.

"So much for iron will, huh?" Prussia laughed, "You just can't resist the temptation of beer, can you?" He gave a squeeze to the muscular frame.

Germany looked broken as he stared at the mostly-empty mug in his hand. He let out a reluctant 'ja' and drank in a guilty, but more dignified, manner.

Of course, it wasn't so much that he couldn't resist beer as he couldn't resist whatever the hell Italy was to him.

Prussia took a seat next to his brother and took a gulp of his pint. "Don't do stupid shit like that again. You'll destroy our house."

"I'm not planning on it," Germany said. "So you were talking with Italy. How'd you like him?"

"Quite the tool you have there," Prussia said. He looked over. "What use is he, exactly?"

"Enough for you, wasn't he?" Germany asked. He took a moment as Prussia shot him a look.

"Seriously, are you fucking him or…?"

"The alliance certainly would make more sense if I was, wouldn't it?"

The two glanced at one another and laughed, though it was masked by the sound of Japan berating Italy and the crying that caused.

There was happiness at having his brother back, and something beyond what he always convinced himself he was feeling while tears poured freely down his face. Prussia wasn't stupid enough to not know the difference, or callous enough to not be grateful for the change. Not that he'd ever tell Germany, of course.

He looked over at his brother's empty mug. "So much for will power, huh?"

Germany gave him a withered look as Prussia laughed. Again, it was masked under the sounds of the two bickering countries they watched; and Germany obediently moved his glass so that Prussia could fill it again. Prussia refilled his own with the remainder of the bottle.

Two perfectly awesome pints existed for a moment before they were drunk down; and all was right with the world again.


End file.
